


LBD

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Dresses, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 00:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20787389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Glorfindel spots a well-dressed friend.





	LBD

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Generally speaking, Glorfindel enjoys the parties he attends. He always appreciates the invitation, even when the entire reason for the celebration is his visit, and he’s clearly the most interesting thing to come through such a small village in decades. It’s still flattering to be so graciously accepted into a small lord’s home, offered the best drinks available and serenaded with the local idea of “music.” Certain parties are always exciting—any bash within the Woodland Realm, for instance—while others are simply that humble honour. Every once in a while, on a lengthy journey full of similar occasions, even the merriest of gatherings can grow a tad dull. He basks in the awe-filled looks and the worshipful comments, but the nattering of mortals does eventually grow old, and he finds himself drifting away as he waits for the night to end. 

There are a few other elves meandering about the candlelit hall, all from his company, all less accustomed to mortal company than himself. Even though they’re at the tail end of their journey, having stopped in many such places on their way back to Imladris, for the younger elves, this must still feel so _new_. Glorfindel allows them that wonder and seeks someone a little more seasoned. The mead he’s been given isn’t nearly enough to stir his mood, and the wine set out on the long dining tables is too bitter for his tastes. He’s painfully present and craves either stimulation or distraction. He finds both in a tall figure by the farthest window. 

Incrementally stopped by curious mortals, Glorfindel weaves his way through the crowd. With a polite smile and graceful reserve, he dodges each passing conversation. The milling bodies are somewhat less plentiful around the trim, dark-haired beauty peering out the window. Elven-long, silk-straight, deep brown hair cascades down a slender back, nearly reaching the bottom of an indecently short black dress, close-cut with a sinful slit up the side. The corseted back is nearly all covered, one thin strap visible as it spills off one pale shoulder. At this time of night, in this drunken occasion, more than one woman has traipsed through the party in too little attire, but this is the first one to catch Glorfindel’s eye. He takes a step around the enchanting creature, preparing his best opening line.

It dies on his tongue. Erestor glances sideways at him and cocks a thin smile in greeting. Glorfindel’s breath catches.

Erestor is, and always has been, every bit as handsome as the alluring outfit he’s donned for the evening. He does, however, tend to dress far more formal—Glorfindel’s never seen him in anything less than full robes. Now the majority of Erestor’s long legs are bare and well displayed, licked warm in the star and firelight. His arms are even more exposed, right down to his skilled fingers deftly wrapped around a wine glass. His dark eyes pierce into Glorfindel, twinkling with mirth, clearly amused by Glorfindel’s evident surprise. Glorfindel is sure he’s blushing. Few people have ever inspired that reaction in him, but Erestor has always been one step ahead. Perhaps because Glorfindel is clearly dazed, Erestor is the first to speak.

He all but purrs in his usual deep cadence, “Are you enjoying your evening, my lord?”

Glorfindel feels no shame in admitting, “I am now.”

Several hundred years ago, Erestor might have rolled his eyes. Instead he rolls on, answering Glorfindel’s unspoken question. “I suppose I should explain myself to you. We are almost home, and so I have run out of time to respect Lord Elrond’s wishes. Before we left, he encouraged me to engage more with the different cultures we encountered on our trip. This purchase was my attempt to do so.”

He obviously means the dress. Glorfindel would’ve dearly liked to go with Erestor to whatever shop he found it in—it can’t have been meant for daywear. If it were anyone else, Glorfindel would suspect the dress actually came in a proper length, and Erestor himself hemmed it much higher. But Erestor would never do that. It would actually be more likely that he deliberately chose something that would make Glorfindel’s heart skip a beat, though Glorfindel feels vain for even suggesting such a thing. 

As casual as Erestor’s tone, Glorfindel remarks, “I believe such a garment is meant for their women.”

Erestor practically snorts, “I am not interested in the mortal assignment of gender.”

Glorfindel can only answer, “That is fair.” And he’s glad of it. Erestor would’ve surely looked as delectable in the usual garb of Men, but the little black dress is far rarer, and that makes it tantalizing. Glorfindel can’t stop his gaze from trailing down Erestor’s sculpted body and along the scintillating curve of his outer thigh. The slit rises nearly to his hip, showing off a part of Erestor that Glorfindel has only thus far dreamed about. He longs to lift the hem that much higher and see what lies below. He’s fortunate that Erestor’s gaze remains on the window.

Erestor murmurs thoughtfully, “Besides... I find I like the attention I receive in this.”

That’s a fair surprise. Erestor isn’t usually one to revel in the sort of attention that Glorfindel does. The wine must be making him coy, although it can’t be enough to provide more than a dull buzz. Glorfindel notes, “I cannot have been the only one to approach you tonight.”

“No,” Erestor muses, tapping the rim of his glass with one finger. He finally turns his eyes to Glorfindel before continuing, “But you are the first to not back away when you realized my lack of curvature in the front.” 

Glorfindel doesn’t mind the flat chest and the way the smooth fabric stretches taut across Erestor’s straight midsection. The skirt flares out a bit more, suggesting that it might lift in the slightest breeze. He does wonder how Erestor managed to avoid certain puckering in the crotch, but he tries to broach that subject delicately. He slowly suggests, “Perhaps this outfit does not highlight your body properly. I could judge better if I were to examine your curvature in, say... the absence of this...?” He takes a step closer but doesn’t dare press his hand beneath the slit in Erestor’s dress like he so wants to. Erestor lets Glorfindel crowd up against him, eyes flickering to his lips. 

For a moment, Glorfindel is sure he’s been too bold. He expects to be sent away, as he so often is with this particular conquest—Erestor has long been the one he’s wanted most and the only one he couldn’t have. A part of him hoped the dress was an invitation to finally break that wall down—that this journey they’ve taken together has brought them closer. 

After a long, painful pause, Erestor admits, “I suppose I will need someone to help me get out of this afterwards. One of the minstrels helped me lace up the back, but if you are offering to _un_lace it...”

Glorfindel assures him, “I very much am.” He splays one hand against the small of Erestor’s back to show his sincerity, just barely able to hold back from plucking at the ties already. He can’t shake the feeling that a few good tugs would have the entire garment falling right off Erestor’s gorgeous body. Erestor takes another sip of wine and levelly regards him over the clear rim. 

Then Erestor sighs. He turns to set his glass down on the protruding windowsill. Glorfindel’s heart skips several beats when Erestor’s hand slips into his. 

He’s lead out of the party, and as soon as they’ve returned to their guest quarters, he’s thrown against the wall and promptly shown that Erestor was indeed thoroughly worth waiting for.


End file.
